


the devil wears an ascot

by The_raven_that_never_calls



Series: Dust & Gold [2]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen, Headcannons Galore, KnightTemplar!Jenkins, One Shot, Spoilers for the Infernal Contract, What happened to the mouse explained, slightly OOC, sorry about the OOCness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 16:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10971270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_raven_that_never_calls/pseuds/The_raven_that_never_calls
Summary: "You're something of a legend in my profession. The incorruptible knight. Allegedly. What I wouldn't give in exchange for your autograph…"-or-In which Sesselman bites off more than he can chew and good does not always mean nice.





	the devil wears an ascot

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of the Infernal Contract according to Sesselman's POV and a fun little epilogue to the episode. (Because I don't think that a certain someone would just leave it just like that.) Dialogue from episode included. Do not own that dialogue, did not write. 
> 
> Also, because editing chapters stinks and I needed a break. 
> 
> Sorry for Jenkins OOCness in advance.
> 
> Pre-Rise and Fall and Post-Cartwheels Across the Sky
> 
> Please enjoy!

Sesselman spots _him_ in the flesh, and he can’t quite resist trying to get _his_ autograph. Galahad is the equivalent of the Royal Family’s crown jewels in his profession. Any soul contractor worth his salt would by trying to get _him_ to sign on the dotted line.

Sesselman casually approaches him and adds some comments on the wine before he strikes, practically salivating at the very idea that _Galahad_ might stoop so low to sign away his soul. (Good intentions have a sneaking way of bring out the worst in people, Sesselman knows, and would love to see Galahad fall.)

“You're something of a legend in my profession. The incorruptible knight. Allegedly.” Sesselman smirks. There are a few rumors that have been floating around, rumors that Galahad wasn’t the shining white knight that the legends believed, but all of them had been uncorroborated or from unreliable narrators. “What I wouldn't give in exchange for your autograph.”

“I would like to say it's a pleasure, Mr. Sesselman, but I think we both know that is not the case.” Galahad’s polite. Straightforward. Quite knightly, if Sesselman did say so himself—handsome too, in spite of Galahad’s old age. According to the legends surrounding the Grail Knight of Virtue, Galahad was also supposed to be quite good with the ladies. Allegedly. Probably true if the young lady on his arm was any indication and if the rumors about his relationship with Morgan were even _half_ true. Impressive, considering the knight’s somewhat… abysmal fashion sense. (The polka-dotted ascot is a _bit_ much.)

Sesselman supposes he ought to go into the details of the business—in the nature of full disclosure, but he may as well be talking to an old pro at this. Galahad’s quite calm for someone whose charges have been threatened. (Or perhaps he’s confident and bold enough to think that they’ll be fine.)

“It would be a shame if they somehow met their end…” Sesselman trails off for dramatic effect, stealing a glance at the knight.

Sesselman nearly takes a step back when he sees the inferno blazing in Galahad’s eyes. Magic begins to swarm around the hotel, heavenly intoxicating and hellishly terrifying at the same time.

“I’d watch your back if I were you, Mr. Sesselman,” Galahad says with a wry little smile. “The next time we meet, the circumstances won’t be so favorable.”

Sesselman lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as Galahad stalks away and disappears into the crowd.

—

—

He’s a little disappointed when Galahad doesn’t sign, but he’ll take the Captain Denning instead, he supposes. A contractor’s got to eat, and Denning—and the souls that’ll be sacrificed to make the man a hero—will be enough to last him for a hundred years or so. Not a bad haul by any standards and it’ll give him enough to talk about at the next contractor reunion.

Apparently, _Satan_ himself is supposed to come down for that one, but those are just rumors—like the time that Murray (that smarmy little bastard) said he was going to bring Galahad. (Liar liar pants on fire.)

Of course, the _Guardian_ had to be snippy about the entire matter. It takes all of his self-control to not roll his eyes as she goes on and on and on about heroics and doing the right thing.

Some people _really_ didn’t understand or appreciate good business.

She gives him a smirk that almost makes him want to roll his eyes. The adversarial approach is all well and good, but the Guardian is beginning to try his already thinning patience. “I know if you engage an entrenched enemy with overwhelming resources, it's a good idea to bring a tank... Sess.”

For a half second, Sesselman wonders how the hell she could get a tank into the tunnels—they _are_ quite small—and then he puts two and two together to _finally_ get four.

Well, shi—

—

When he checks back in on the Librarians, Sesselman’s worst fears have been confirmed. Sesselman himself may be eternal, but Galahad seems to be even beyond that. Stick a sword through Sesselman or his contract and he might not live to see another day if said sword is coated in enough holy magic, but Galahad…

Sesselman is internally cursing himself for even trying to bring Galahad into this damn mess.

“I'm billing you for the suit,” Galahad remarks casually, dusting himself off in the wreckage. He looks almost… _bored_ at the murder attempt, as if it’s just another dime-a-dozen attempts he’s seen before. Probably is. (After all, Galahad has been around even longer than Sesselman.)

Sesselman is still gaping at the still breathing knight of the Round Table. “The Contract cannot kill what cannot be killed!”

Galahad winks, smirking. In the knight’s dark eyes, Sesselman can see a hint of wicked victory. (Maybe there was some stock to the rumors after all, he thinks, but he has more important things to worry about anyway.) “Now you're starting to get it.”

Galahad’s smirk and knowing eyes still send shivers down his spine. The magic from before tantalizingly wraps itself around Sesselman’s throat, gently sliding down his neck until it suddenly constricts, and for a petrifying second, Sesselman can’t breathe.

He sighs with relief when the magic suddenly disappears. Sesselman wastes no time in getting the hell out of there, hurrying back to try to convince the Guardian, crossing his fingers that this will still work out and this isn’t just a wasted attempt. 

—

—

It’s a wasted attempt.

He’s made _human_. He’s made _mortal_. Through his shock and disbelief, Sesselman somehow wanders into a nearby coffeeshop and just stares blankly at the table, internally cursing in every single language known to man and creature.

And then _he’s_ there, sitting in front of him as casual as can be.

“Coffee?” Galahad asks him, grinning. “My treat.” Sesselman moves to leave, but Galahad holds up a warning finger. “Ah, ah, ah. I don’t suggest you do that. I know over a thousand ways to kill you without ever getting up out of this chair, and I’m more than willing to use ** _all_** of them, if need be.”

After so many deals and contracts, Sesselman knows how to spot a liar, and the Galahad before him—incorruptible knight or not—is no liar liar pants on fire. _Incorruptible knight, my goddamn foot._ “What do you want me to do then?”

“You can either sit and have a civil conversation with me like a civilized creature or pray that you’ve had some counterinterrogation training.” Galahad’s gentle smile never wavers. “I don’t care what you choose, though I do suggest you choose the former. The last person I interrogated begged me to die half-way through. Sad, really. He had been so confident in his ability to remain silent in the beginning too. They always are.”

Sesselman immediately sits back down in his seat. (Personally, he’s never been a fan of pain.)

“Now, Mr. Sesselman…” Jenkins pushes over a steaming mug of coffee. (It looks fine from first smell and taste without any poison, but Sesselman’s no longer immortal so he really doesn’t know and actually has to care.) “Do you promise to tell me the truth and nothing but the truth?”

Sesselman has been on the other side of the table before, and he’s not about to get screwed—literally or figuratively. The Galahad sitting before him looks like he’s willing to do both. As in actually screw Sesselman into the table with actual screws. Everything, it seems, is on the table with Galahad. “Will I be killed once I tell you what you need to know?”

“Of course not.” Galahad, for some odd reason, looks _insulted_ by the very idea. “If you tell me the truth, you have nothing to fear.”

Galahad isn’t lying. Thank Satan and the Devil and the Lord all in one.

Straight negotiations it is.

“Then I promise to tell you the truth,” Sesselman replies, hoping that he’s not sounding too eager with his reply.  

“Excellent.” Galahad takes a sip of his own coffee, an action that Sesselman instinctively mirrors. Nothing like getting a potential business partner to lower their guard by making them feel ‘at ease.’ (Sesselman is already in a precarious position and needs all the ammo he can get.) “Now, Mr. Sesselman, how many soul contractors are currently present on earth?”

Sesselmen furrows his brow. “About 5,000. Why?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” Galahad takes another gulp of coffee. Sesselman quickly follows suit. “And of those contractors, how many have directly interacted with the angel known as Satan?”

“At most our reunion planning committee. There are rumors that Satan will be attending our next reunion.” Sesselman notices how Galahad’s eyes glint at that. Plucking a pen and pad of paper from his pocket, Sesselman begins writing the nine names down and shoves the pad over to Galahad. “Names and general locations of all of those on the planning committee, if you’re interested. But only if you let me go after this meeting.”

“Excellent. You have my word that I will not interfere with your affairs after this little chat.” Galahad gives the list a cursory glance before returning his attention to Sesselman. “When is your next reunion?”

“In about ten years.”

“Ten years,” Galahad echoes. “Not a lot of time then.”

Sesselman’s frown deepens. “For _what_?”

“Don’t concern yourself over such trivial details.” Galahad’s expression remains inscrutable. Sesselman can practically feel his usefulness evaporating faster than water boiling over Hellfire. “Anyhow, Mr. Sesselman, may I please have your word that you will not disclose this meeting to anyone and divulge any information that was shared?”

“You have my word,” Sesselman replies automatically, though he’s already planning on selling this to a contact that could potentially use this as enough leverage to get back his immortality. There’s a tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he dismisses it as mortal nerves. (He’s counting down to seconds that he’ll be a soul contractor once again.)

“Good.” Galahad checks his pocket watch for the time. “I really must get going soon. I did tell the Guardian that I was stepping out to restock some medical supplies.”

“And what about me?” Sesselman asks. No harm in gambling and pushing his luck a bit when he’s _already_ at rock bottom. “You really are just going to leave me here? _Alone?_ ” The hope creeps into his voice, and Galahad looks at him almost sympathetically.

“Oh heavens no.” Galahad smirks. “The coffee will do the clean-up for me.”

“Clean…” Sesselman is suddenly seized by more burning sensations from the pit of his stomach. It’s like someone shoved Hellfire down there and is gleefully watching him being burnt alive from the inside out. “You didn’t tell me…you s-spiked the…coffee.” Sesselman wheezes, his hand trembling as he tries to signal for help. “F..f…”

“Full disclosure?” Galahad mercifully finishes for him. The knight laughs. “No, no, Mr. Sesselmann, I’m not a businessman like yourself. I’m a _former_ knight, and I have a different method of doing things for the greater good.” He pockets the pad of paper and gives Sesselman an indulgent smile. “Unfortunately, that involves doing a bit of what some people call… evil.” 

Sesselman is desperately trying to flag down someone, _anyone_ , but to no avail. It is like the two of them are in an alternate dimension in which no one can hear or see either of them. Barrier spell, maybe. Or some artifact. (Doesn’t matter really, either way he’s screwed.) Staring at the former knight in horror, Sesselman manages to rasp, “You said n-nothing…”

“Bad would happen to you?” Galahad all but coos. “Naturally—but _only_ if you told the truth.”

“How did you even manage to…” Sesselman trails off as he feels his contract _burning_ along with him. “Oh God…” 

“It’s simple, Mr. Sesselman.” Galahad gives him a condescending pat on the head. “I knew you’d be quite vulnerable after Colonel Baird rendered you defenseless. A simple concoction of coffee mixed with a truth spell that released holy magic and I just had to sit back and watch you do the rest.” 

(No wonder the interrogated man was begging to die halfway through.)

“Please… have m-mercy…” Everything is on fire. How is it that a _stomach_ can make him feel like he’s in so much burning agony? Sesselman helplessly looks on, unable to stop the blaze that has flared into an inferno inside of him. “ _Please…_ ”

“Why should I?” Galahad tilts his head curiously. “Isn’t that what your hundreds of victims would have said to you?”

“Thousands,” Sesselman instinctively corrects, and Galahad looks at him pityingly as if he has just made Galahad’s point. Another convulsion kicks in, and Sesselman stares at his hand in horror as he is set alight with holy magic—the real, potent stuff, not just holy water or blessed artifacts or silver crosses but the real goddamn deal sent straight from God and the other side.

_he’s going to die! **he’s going to die!** **HE’SGOINGTODIE!**_

(There had been rumors years ago about a man named Jenkins that hunted soul contractors and devils and anyone that disturbed the balance between good and evil and chaos and order. Holy magic and Hellfire had been the tools of this Jenkins fellow’s trade. _Allegedly._ Sesselman had never put any stock to those rumors and hates himself now for _not._

Jenkins had been _him_ the entire time, hadn’t he...)

“If it’s any consolation, unlike your other comrades, you are not being judged by God. You’re being judged by _me_ ,” Galahad remarks lightly, as if reading Sesselman’s mind. He ruffles Sesselman’s hair. “Good bye, Mr. Sesselman. Like I said before, I would like to say it's a pleasure, but we both know that’s not the case.”

Sesselman collapses, falling to the floor, and looks up at the knightly face that was still so… serene, like this was business as usual. (How many people had he done this before? How many lives had the knight taken in the name of his justice and greater good?)

How ironic that Galahad’s smiling face looks so much like the face of mercy.

—

—

The last thing Sesselman ever sees is the _damned_ ascot.

—

—

* * *

Jenkins returns to the Library with the supplies in hand, restocking the medicine cabinet before going to check on the Librarians. His little coffee with Mr. Sesselman had taken less than an hour, the Librarians would be hopefully healed in the next two, and after that, Jenkins would have to make a few calls for a few favors before returning to his experiments.

Ms. Cillian will be fine, he notes with some relief, as will Mr. Jones and Mr. Stone. The elixir is working well, even with Mr. Jones’ attempts to interfere with it by moving around. A healing spell would have been faster, but he’s not one for magic these days… (Not since World War II and his heart was broken all over again, but that’s a story for another day.)

The important thing is that they’re all _alive._ They’re all _safe_. They’re all _home_. And he’s done his job.

Jenkins had told Eve that he had considered himself more of a caretaker than anything else, even in the old, _old_ days.

(Being the Caretaker also meant disposing of the trash. Even in the old, _old_ days.)

Humming absently to himself, Jenkins sweeps away the ashes of Sesselman’s contract and resumes his vigil by the Librarians side. (He hates them slightly—for worming their way into his heart, digging their way in and refusing to let go, but hate is the same coin as love in the end and in spite of everything, he has grown to love them all.)

He has ten years, Jenkins notes, if what Mr. Sesselman’s last testimony is to be believed. Ten whole years to sort out his little…issue from the Holy Grail and maybe, _just maybe,_ with her, try again.

The golden ring that hangs around his neck feels heavier than usual. He remembers when _she_ gave it to him, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, her brown eyes shifting to the ground nervously, and she asked him if he would have her back for forever and a day.

He said _yes_. (Because with them, it was not a question of _if_ but rather a question of _when._ )

Ragnarok is coming and it’s coming soon and it’s coming fast and there is no way Jenkins can bear this burden alone. Not anymore. Not with Satan’s return and Jenkins’ worst nightmares coming to life. Not with Hellfire burning at his fingertips and slowly eroding his very soul.

Ragnarok may come and the world may end, but no matter the outcome, there is no one else that he would rather have by his side then _her_. 

In the meantime, Jenkins supposes, he will protect all that he has left to protect. The Library. The Librarians. The Guardian. Judson. Charlene. (And he will do it through **_any means_** possible.)

He’s lost almost everything. _(Arthur. Merlin. Morgause. Mordred. Kay. Genevieve. Angela. Tristan. Isolde. Judson. Faith. Hope.)_  

He **_won’t_** lose them as well.

—

—

Morgan had once told Colonel Baird, ‘ _Noli timere malum, sed time heroa.’ Do not fear the villain, fear the hero._

Jenkins smiles softly.

Morgan hadn’t been referring to Lancelot with that little lovenote of hers.

He’ll keep her warning in mind.

But in the meantime… Galahad tucks all three of the Librarians in, smiling softly. In the meantime, he hopes this charade can last a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually love ascots, just for the record. (Although I prefer cravats and ties.)
> 
> Headcannon that Jenkins is not above using violence, if his strangulation of Eve is any indication in Season 3. The path to hell is paved with good intentions, after all. 
> 
> Headcannon is that Jenkins' journey for the Holy Grail gave him immortality and a lot more than what he ever expected. 
> 
> Jenkins also seems to emphasize being a former knight rather than a knight, which is interesting considering his declaration to Cassandra that as a knight he has to keep his word but in S2 he shows irritation at being called a knight by Moriarty... 
> 
> More to come on his backstory with the Rise and Fall and coming fics! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this! Drop a comment! And stay tuned! :D


End file.
